Urgent
by sankontesu
Summary: He can never pin-point when these things happen; all he knows is that one second he's a normal half-demon man, going about his mundane life, and the next his wife shoots him a look that turns his flesh to fire and coal. (Self-indulgent InuKag smut.)
**Urgent**

 **A/N: Beautiful cover art done by grapefruitwannabe dot tumblr dot com!**

* * *

He can never pin-point when these things happen; all he knows is that one second he's a normal half-demon man, going about his mundane life, and the next his wife shoots him a look that turns his flesh to fire and coal.

And this time is the same as any other time, except they're all different in his mind, because she's Kagome and he's Inuyasha, and nothing is ever identical to the last; each moment new and cherished and burning red like the flaming ends at the corner of their main room.

She slips by his vision with nothing but a towel wrapped around her body, something he had seen countless times in the past but never connected a sexual connotation to until he realized what he was capable of doing with the body underneath.

She's making puddles all over the floor. Provided that it doesn't damage the wood beneath them, he doesn't care at all. He took time sanding it down and making it perfectly smooth for her lithe slender feet, so it'd be a shame to have them ruined.

She murmurs his name sleepily with a coy smile, and like always he's suddenly wanting her all over again, forgetting himself for a few moments and feeling nothing but the hardness in between his legs. He's burned for her all week, but he's just realizing this now as she steps toward him with a playful swing of her hips.

"Hot springs?" He mumbles quietly, watching the color of her eyes turn dark and then bright again in the light of the fire playing on her face. He flippantly feels a nudge of ire at the idea of her walking anywhere outside their home wearing only that, but it evaporates with each move of her lips, and he's learned to keep those thoughts to himself anyway.

"Mmm," she hums, wrapping her arms around his neck and tilting up to press a soft kiss against his jaw. He holds back a hiss when every curve of her body presses against him. "You should've been there," she adds.

He draws out a breath and settles his hands carefully on her hips, "Don't think Sango would'a appreciated that."

His wife licks her lip, and their eyes lock for a moment; almost like she was challenging him to make the first move. He leans back to stop himself from giving in. She watches him like she's calculating something and then runs her hands from the muscles of his back to the hair on his head.

"She wasn't there."

He arches his brow, momentarily curious. "What were you doin' alone?"

"Thinking of you."

And just like that, he's short of breath. He can't form words, and she's done it again; left him speechless and wanting and his body feels like it's melting down to join the pools of water on the floor.

He frames her face with his hands, and kisses her brow, licking at the traces of water on her hairline. The taste shouldn't be remarkable in any way but it's indescribable just the same.

She smiles dreamily, and whispers. "Are you gonna take me to bed?" And when she asks, it's not really a question more so than a demand. A prophecy.

He nods. He is.

Her smile builds into a throaty giggle as she leans against him, towel falling precariously low on her chest, a faint blush at her own boldness creeping over her nose. "Come on, then."

He doesn't think. He scoops her up into his arms and carries her to the bed.

* * *

The trip back to their futon can't be more than a few short feet, down a hallway, and to the left, but it seems like forever.

When he finally reaches it, he eases her down onto it gently and before she could reach for the cloth with her own hands, he unwraps it.

He unfolds the towel on either side of her like wings and stares down at her. He kneels down, ready to undo his pants and fall over her, but the sight of his wife beneath him stops him like a pilant hand pressed against his chest.

She looks small there, even smaller than she normally does, her hands loose and soft at her sides and her knees bent upward, her legs slightly spread. She's vulnerable and open and looking at him expectantly with bright beautiful eyes, a lazy smile spreading and pushing the apple of her blushing cheeks upward.

She arches her back, as if coaxing him closer, and his gaze sweeps appreciatively from the curve of her neck, to the dusty peaks of her nipples, down across the muscles of her abdomen, and further even still to the glistening lips of her sex. He reaches forward and glides the calloused pads of his fingers down the span of it, breathing harshly while she mewls. He'll never get over this. They could be together for a thousand years and he knows with a undebateable certainty that he would be in this exact spot still.

She's basically _presenting_ herself, and what happens next (he decides) is entirely her fault.

From the position of his kneel and the thickness of the futon, it puts her at the perfect height for this, and he tugs at the towel until she scrambles back and lets him take it, pushing up on her elbows with a questioning expression through the odd shadows playing over her face. "Inuyasha, what-"

He doesn't answer. He bunches the towel and throws it behind him, reaches out and takes her by the hips to yank her towards the bed's edge. She squeaks, hands fumbling at his arms.

She understands what's happening now. This isn't the first time.

Nor the last.

"Inuyasha, you don't have to-"

He doesn't give her the chance to finish that sentence; he lifts her legs with his hands fitted under her knees, leans in and swipes his tongue up the length of her.

She whimpers and collapses under his attention, rests her feet on his shoulders, and her legs fall apart the same way her lips do when he uses his tongue.

And closes his mouth over her soft, wet, hood.

It's been a while since they've had a moment like this, and he knows she'll come and it'll probably be quick, but not too quick he hopes, because he's so _hungry_ for this it hurts. Not desperate, not famished, but _hungry,_ lapping up everything that leaks as he makes her flow, sucking, and licking her in long broad dog-swipes. There's an urgency in his movements, like he's been thirsting for decades and she's all he has. And she thrusts herself up, her hands tangling into the wild strands of silver on his head, tugging him deeper and rocking against him in a sharp frantic grind.

This is the part where he knows she'll be wanting something more. His claws shake in agitation, tortured that he can't give her everything she wants.

So he'll just have to work at other things harder.

She's speaking loud, even if she's not using her words, and he can hear her beg clear as day.

And he can't say no to her. He simply can't.

Something he's begun to understand since the moment she surged into his life after he had already accepted her leaving it.

"Inuyasha," she hisses, the word almost lost in the sheer depth of her smile. "It feels so- Oh, _oh_ , you- Oh _God_."

He stops his teasing, not because he wants to, but because he's not sure he can stand it.

When she jerks his hair he launches a full assault, swirling rough over her clit, rapid flicks with the tip of his tongue, and for a few seconds he can't breathe as she bucks wild, spine in a deep stunning bow, head thrown back, and his name ripping from her like one lasting plea as she smothers him with herself and he thinks he might be drowning.

When she releases him and wilts, panting, coming down from her climax, he doesn't wait because he's not a patient man and he never has been.

He quickly makes work of the knot at his pants and raises himself with his hands on her thighs to crawl up her body. When he braces himself over her, he feels her hands guiding him. The swell of his cock brushes and glides against her slick folds, and he shakes just the same as she does. She pulls back his foreskin and nudges the sensitive head against her entrance.

He groans when he sinks into her, one delicious inch at a time, and he does it so easily that it's like he never left. He feels her hand circling the base of it, all the way until he feels his balls nestled against the curve of her cheeks.

She closes her eyes and pushes her forehead into his as she moans.

He breaches the distance between their lips and kisses her, gentle. Slow. Unhurried. But she closes her teeth over his bottom lip and bites carefully, and he whines, clutching at the bed sheets under them. Ripping them under his claws. She's going to give him shit for that later, but he doesn't care. Nothing really matters right now except what they're doing and where they're going.

"Damn," he whispers, rocking forward and feeling her pulsing heat all around him. He shudders and runs a hand into the nest of her wet hair. "You feel so fucking-"

She cuts him off with crying chocking sob, and if he had momentarily wondered of her well-being at the time, the sounds she made were everything he needed to know.

He leans back to take her in again. The lovely slope of her breasts and ribs, heaving as she breathes, her hair spilling like the night sky behind her in dense knotted strands. How he fits her, how she fits him, how they're soaking in the shadow and the candlelight. Drenched in sweat and spring water. Together. Like it's always been.

"Kagome," he breathes again, and starts to move in between her legs.

And like always, it's slow. Five years later and it's still slow. Slow but hard, long thrusts as deep into her as he can go, and she meets him sometimes with a wonderful little grind, working themselves into a steady rhythm. He started curved over her, his face parallel with hers, and for a while he manages to stay that way, but with every plunge, his own heart is pushing him backwards, wanting- _needing_ to see her; the way he always wants to see her. And there she is, splayed out before him, and soon enough he's straight like an arrow, his hands cupping the forgiving cheeks of her ass to pull her lower body flush against his with every hard push of his own.

Her hand goes searching for his and he lets go half his hold to meet it, curling his fingers around hers tightly, threading his rough fingers over her small ones. The arch of her back becomes more extreme, until her breasts are bouncing and falling towards her chin, the top of her head stretched into the mattress for support, her free hand fisting into a sheet and finding the holes he made into them as he finds more speed and pounds the breath out of her.

And he does it fast, and harder, solid and wet pounding that trembles through him like an earthquake, making the blood beat like distant drums in his ears, dragging her groans into a building crescendo.

Her eyes are squeezed tight as he takes her in, scanning her from the crown of her head over to the delicate curve of her calves next to his arms. Her mouth is parted in gasp, pink and swollen and his.

All his.

It's effortless; the way she takes him apart and puts him back together with a mere glance.

She looks like everything he's ever wanted in life, spread open and accepting him, and _enjoying_ it. Her face screwed up exquisitely in the realms of pleasure. The sensitive part of himself disappearing into the sensitive part of herself at the juncture of their thighs.

"Look at you," he speaks quietly in awe, as if she could look down on herself and see what he's seeing. Feel what he's feeling. " _Look_ at you. You're perfect."

He feels her sex tighten around his cock and he knows she heard him.

"Inuyasha," she gasps, digging her nails into the flesh of his hand like an animal.

There are things he wants to say, countless things. Innumerable, and unmeasurable. But even if he tried, he knew wouldn't be able to convey them properly. They're beating against the inside of his head, his throat and chest, simmering just under the skin of his lips and begging to come out; a nauseating tumult of words and phrases strung together to make romantic complete sentences, but they've never been good enough before and they aren't good enough now.

Inuyasha is not a poet, and he never will be; there are no songs sitting in wait at the marrow of his bones. But there's definitely a harmony in hers, and he listens to it, and he follows it like it's his only religion; his lasting salvation.

So all he can do is respond by showing her, and he does that now, pushing in and out, full and heavy, rocking with a ragged groan. He brands her passionately into the bed, drinking her in like she's the only thing left of the world, and bringing her leg closer to his lips to rain kisses down onto it, sliding his lips against her skin with heated whispers of her name.

He will never deserve this. He is a broken half-breed with no name, and he doesn't and will never deserve this, and he is no good for her. But he will _die_ trying to give her everything, because that's what _she_ deserves.

A knot forms at the base of his throat.

"Inuyasha."

He's jarred momentarily by the direct tone in her voice, neither sighing nor inundated in pleasure. He eases his motions to a slow twist of his hips, and waits for her to finish.

Her eyes are wide and earthly and so full of adoration that it tears him to pieces.

"You're so _good_ ," she wraps her legs tight around him and digs her heels into the small of his back, a tender edge to her voice. _How did she know…_

 _"_ You are. Look- Look at me." But of course she knew. She always knows. This woman below him can read him like the pages in her books, or the herbs in the garden, she can see into him, through him; he didn't notice when he had bent forward, but now his face is in her hands and she's the one meeting up to swallow him into her warmth, deep and slow. Now she's the one doing him. Moving her hips against his and she's so wet that everything is seamless. And it feels perfect, like nothing else has ever felt in his life.

Tears are glistening in her eyes, and he thinks there might be something in his own. Her thumbs pass over his cheekbones, and everything inside him seizes up.

"I love you so much, Inuyasha. Look at me, I love you _so_ much-"

It's impactful. It slams into him with the crushing ferocity of a bone-crushing wave, and he feels himself coil tightly and hurl forward, wrapping his fingers into the back of her head and pushing her up and forward to meet his ravenous lips. He convulses over her and it's like a fall of lukewarm water has surged up and closed over his head to receive him.

He kisses all the words out of her, and trembles over and into her, releasing everything built up between them with a shivering sigh, emptying from his lungs like soft mist.

She's mindlessly stroking his back as he falls on her, balancing some of his weight on his elbows so that he doesn't completely burden her with his weight.

A giggle floats up to him and he blinks away the blur in his eyes to take note of it.

"You makin fun of me?"

She chortles and turns. He helps her so they're both facing each other, naked under the shadow of the night.

"Nah," she says lightly, her fingers scraping against the newly grown stubble of his chin. It was a new development, and not one she was necessarily complaining about. "Just happy."

"Yeah?" He asks, half dubious.

"Yeah."

He thinks a minute, realizing for not the first time in their relationship that maybe he is good enough. That maybe this is what she deserves, and maybe this is fate, and maybe this is where she was supposed to be. Because in the end he can't deny the overwhelming constellation of the stars, and he can't deny the fact he was born for her anymore than he can deny the emotions churning in his heart.

He feels a smile curl around his lips, "Me too."

Because he loves her too.


End file.
